Strictly speaking, Deke knew that there hadn’t been a family farm anymore when he had joined the army. He had been living in a rooming house in town with his sister, Sadie.
She was now in Washington, DC, working as a police officer. And here Deke was, digging holes on the far side of the world. It sounded to him as if his sister had come out ahead on that deal. Again, he grinned.
Just as quickly, the grin faded. Their family farm had been stolen away by a rich banker when the mortgage had come due. Bankers just like him had stolen a lot of farms — and people’s houses, too — all around the Appalachians. The mountains had been slow to come out of the Depression, if they ever would.
Thinking about that banker, Deke supposed it was a shame that the man wasn’t here, because the hole Deke was digging was just the right size to bury that banker in.
The sandy, volcanic soil was easy to shovel. That much was different from the farm, at least — the mountain soil was thin to the point of being stingy, except when it came to rocks. There were always rocks in abundance. It was little wonder that the mountain farmers struggled so much. He could see that the farms and fields here on Leyte were far more abundant.
For a change there were no tangled tree roots, because they were digging in what appeared to be the old parade grounds for Camp Downes. They were working by the last of the tropical daylight.
When the night arrived, it came quickly. Once again, the tropical sunset did not disappoint. The sun disappeared in a cloud of purple and orange that hugged the horizon. The last light of day vanished in a heartbeat, swallowed by the clouds. The coming night did little to alleviate the humidity, which groped at them like fingers dipped in sticky lard.
The forest canopy beyond Camp Downes fell into shadow, a tangle of vines and branches, lit by pinpricks of light from fireflies and punctuated by occasional birdcalls. For all they knew, those birdcalls might be Japanese units signaling to one another. The soldiers doubled their pace, working to finish up their foxholes.
Beyond the land, the ocean reflected light like a giant mirror, empty of any ships, friendly or otherwise. A squadron of planes flew in the distance, too far away to tell if they were American or Japanese.
The threat of a Japanese night attack was just one of the problems they were dealing with. There was also the issue of the wounded, not just from their company, but from other units who had been working to push the Japanese back from the beach and pen them in closer to Ormoc.
There were also several dead soldiers, their bodies set out in neat rows and covered in their own blankets. Almost all of them knew someone who was dead under one of those blankets, and they were haunted by the thought, Tomorrow that might be me.
Normally, the wounded would be taken to the beach, and from there to hospital ships or naval sick bays that were better equipped to treat them. However, word had come down that there was going to be a delay in evacuating the wounded.
“The Navy pulled its ships back,” Lieutenant Steele explained. “They’re afraid of Japanese aircraft in the vicinity and also of the Japanese Navy.”
“I thought they licked the Japanese Navy.”
“Not completely,” Steele said. “There are plenty of Japanese submarines around too. Anyhow, the bottom line is that the navy isn’t sending any vessels to take our wounded off Leyte.”
Nobody spoke up to accuse the US Navy of being captained by a bunch of grannies. The soldiers had been passengers aboard the ships, and so they knew better. They had seen what the squids were up against. It was different from being in a dark jungle, but constantly scanning the skies and horizons for an enemy that might appear at any moment to sink you with torpedoes or bombs was no picnic.
The Japanese Navy was no joke, and neither were their remaining aircraft — especially the new kamikaze attacks.
When they had first heard about those, nobody could believe it. It still took some getting used to, the idea of Japanese pilots committing suicide by flying into ships and taking as many US sailors with them as possible. For the average soldier, it was just further evidence of the death wish that seemed to possess the Japanese forces.
“What are we supposed to do with the wounded, then?” Philly asked, sounding disgusted. “Those poor bastards need help.”
“Division is sending a surgeon up from the beach to do what he can for the wounded,” Steele said. “I guess it’s easier to send him here than to try and move the wounded.”
As promised, the surgeon soon appeared, bouncing along in a Jeep with two orderlies. The Jeep was being driven in blackout conditions, its headlights reduced to slits to avoid drawing enemy fire. The flip side was that the dim headlights made navigating the jungle road more than a little challenging. It was a lucky break that there was still some lingering daylight as the Jeep pulled up.
An officer got out and dusted himself off as Lieutenant Steele approached.
“Welcome to Camp Downes, Doc,” the lieutenant said.
“This is it, huh?” the surgeon asked, looking around. He was well into his forties, of average height, and was wearing wire-rimmed glasses. He took off his helmet to rub a sweaty bald head. He had a bit of a paunch that his baggy uniform didn’t quite hide. Considering that nobody was going to get fat eating army food, the paunch must have been a vestige of civilian life.
“It’s my understanding that it used to be one of our bases before the Nips took it over in forty-one, along with the rest of the Philippines,” Steele explained.
“Glad we got here when we did. I don’t think we could have found it once it got any darker.”
“Yeah, it won’t be long before it’s as dark out here as the inside of a meatball,” Philly added.
The combat surgeon gave Philly a quizzical look, as if he was wondering whether he had just found a genuine Looney Tune, but he didn’t respond. He turned his attention back to the lieutenant. “I’ve got to say, this place isn’t much to look at. But I’m sure glad we found you. I was half expecting to run into enemy lines by mistake. The way I understand it, this place is still crawling with Japanese.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong there,” Steele said.
“You’re in charge here?” the surgeon asked.
“Captain Merrick is the company commander, Doc. I’m just in charge of this little corner of paradise,” Steele replied. “I’m Lieutenant Steele.”
“That’s good enough for me, Lieutenant. I’m Captain Harmon, by the way. Doc Harmon,” the surgeon said. He studied the lieutenant’s face — or rather, his leather eye patch. “Why, Lieutenant, I believe you only have one eye. That’s not a fresh wound either. What the hell are you still doing in the field?”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
The surgeon shook his head. “Most men I know would be more than happy to be sent home if they were in your shoes.”
“I guess I’m just not ready to give up the fight yet.”
“I know the feeling,” the doc said. “All right, take me to the wounded, and let me see what I can do for them.”
“This way, Doc.”
The orderlies unloaded medical equipment, and the surgeon also carried a bag. It seemed like precious little equipment, considering the injuries of some of the wounded, but the surgeon didn’t appear daunted in any way. He quickly fell into step beside the lieutenant.
The Japanese seemed intent on reminding the soldiers that this fight wasn’t over. From time to time, sniper fire punctuated the darkness. There would be a muzzle flash somewhere in the forest and then the crack of a bullet. Sometimes a man went down, but mostly the sniper fire seemed intended to rattle the soldiers’ nerves. It was harassing fire, pure and simple.
Nobody really knew what the Japanese were shooting at, but every soldier’s natural inclination was to think that the bullet was aimed at him. Nobody blamed a guy for flinching. They were all a little jumpy.